


In the Wind from the Sea

by Fadesintothewest



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 15:24:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9663470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fadesintothewest/pseuds/Fadesintothewest
Summary: After the defeat of Sauron, Legolas and Aragorn share a moment together, contemplating their old and new hurts. But Legolas is not one to allow the sea-longing that has claimed him to mar his love for Aragorn.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HanaHeart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HanaHeart/gifts).



> Rating up to = NC-17  
> Requested pairing = Aragorn/Legolas  
> Story elements = Angst, Romance, Hurt/Comfort
> 
> I hope you love it!!!

Aragorn knelt on the ground, reading the signs left by those that had come this way: the wind, the squirrel, and the heavy boot. Together the signs told a story that his keen eyes read. To the group he announced: “We are gaining on them. Their march slows.”

Legolas looked at the haphazard story that Aragorn’s fingers were tracing. Legolas laughed. A soft laugh. Lyrical and quiet, almost lost to the breeze, but Aragorn’s keen hearing heard it and he responded with a puzzled and annoyed glance. Legolas was unfathomable at times, but to Aragorn’s human mind, the reason for Legolas’ laughter could not be decoded.

Legolas walked a few steps ahead of Gimli and Aragorn, pausing to turn and look back at the group, “We gain. They slow.”

Gimli rose to his feet. He was fatigued but the iron will of his people would not let him slow, not allow him to stop. Aragorn also rose, his annoyance turning to amusement. It was a small moment of something beyond the fear and worry that burdened them all knowing Pippen and Merry’s lives depended on their pursuit. Wordlessly, the trio took up their run. They would save the Hobbits soon and the story would be told and celebrated.

 

******

Sauron was defeated. They had returned victorious, but with victory came the moments after: where the dead would be recovered, and buried; the wounded tended; and the wear on bodies crashing down on all. Frodo and Sam were recovering. Soon Aragorn would cross the threshold through the gates of Minas Tirith and claim his crown.

Legolas watched Aragorn. Aragorn was fidgeting with the new tunic. The stiff embroidery chaffed him. Legolas laughed. This time it was loud and brash. Aragorn heard but kept his attention on his attire, but Legolas’ continued laughter at his expense was too much to ignore. This time Aragorn did not express annoyance. Instead he dropped his hands to his side, felt a deep dogged tiredness in his bones, where there should only be joy. “How I will miss your laugh,” Aragorn whispered, allowing himself to name a pain that haunted him. 

The light in Legolas’ eyes shifted, his laughter dissapating. The hues of blues of his eyes darkened and his mouth frowned ever so slightly. Holding his bow close to him as he always did, Legolas answered, his voice not betraying the quick turn of the moment into melancholy: “I will not leave these shores for a long time to come,” Legolas declared to Aragorn. _I will not leave these shores while you live_ , Legolas vowed to himself.

“At what cost?” Aragorn replied. “And for whom if not for you?”

Legolas eyes lit up, laughter finding him again, refusing to give in to the sea-longing, choosing to ride its waves and go boldly into the unknown that awaited him. “Fear not my dearest friend, I stay because _I_ wish it and because I cannot bear be parted from your side.” In truth, for Legolas it would be but a moment he would linger on Middle Earth. Such was the burden of mortal friendships. 

It was Aragorn’s turn to smile. It was a dreadful thing that instead of lighting up his face, twisted his tired features into something almost devilish. At least that’s what Aragorn surmised as he returned to looking at himself in the mirror that stood in his tent. The tunic was beautiful enough but it seemed a sin to be worried about such trivialities after so much death. 

Legolas walked over to Aragorn, standing behind him, appraising the figure in the mirror. Not satisfied with what he saw, Legolas lay his bow on a table near the mirror and returned his attention to Aragorn. Bringing his fingers to the material, Legolas pulled and poked and generally annoyed Aragorn with his ministrations but Aragorn did not ask him to stop. He rather enjoyed Legolas fussing over him. These moments would not be as common as they had once been. Even out in the wilds, Legolas would prod and poke Aragorn, if only to annoy his friend. It was one of the many ways Legolas would lighten their mood, bring some wood elf magic that sparkled and popped with mischief.

After completing his appraisal of the tunic, Legolas announced dryly, “It will not do.” His distaste was obvious. Aragorn raised his voice to retort but Legolas cut him off. “You think that wearing more humble attire will quell your unease with the contradictions of becoming king, of all that was sacrificed.” Legolas laid a hand on Aragorn’s shoulder, looking at him through the reflection in the mirror. “And yes, half of all this is preposterous,” Legolas acknowledged, his eyes circling the large tent.

Aragorn’s eyes followed landing on the number of items filled his tent and seemed to grow by the hour without his consent, but little could Aragorn do turn away the trappings of Kingship. The colors of the King of Gondor, of Aragorn’s heritage, were resplendent. The King’s banner hung in the center of the tent, brilliant and muddied, thought the beauty wrought by Arwen’s hand could not be marred.

“But you are no longer Aragorn,” Legolas continued. “You are Gondor and your people will want you resplendent for you are their joy, their King restored.”

Aragorn took in a deep breath. “Do not think I do not know you use your words to lead me astray. Alas I will not discuss your sea-longing for the moment, but speak on it we will.” And yet Legolas spoke wisely. Aragorn would be no more, at least not in public. He would have to steal moments in private to be Aragorn, but he would also be king and become King Elessar Telcontar. This thought made Aragorn smile. Even as king he would remain as he had been, Telcontar, in honor of the name Strider.

Legolas inclined his head, appreciative of Aragorn’s patience with him, for the man had to cultivate it in enormous amounts but for Legolas’ peculiar character, though not so out of sort for that of a wood elf.

“There, I like that smile better,” Legolas shared, leaning closely behind Aragorn. “Do not let me see that grim thing that marred your handsome face again. It was dreadful,” Legolas scolded his friend. Aragorn laughed, leaning back into Legolas, finding himself supported, feeling the familiar warmth emanate from Legolas. Their bodies in proximity were familiar to one another, each knowing how the other fit into the other. Over the march of their arduous journey, of all that history they had made together before this moment, they had spent much time comforting one another. The Hobbits had not understood it at first. It was Boromir who had explained to them the way of men in war. Gimli, in his gruff way, had made it more tender, expressing to the Hobbits that those mores that bound society were all but lost when out in battle for fighting demanded much of men and women and they had to find ways to replenish their soul in spite of the darkness.

Legolas tenderly took hold of Aragorn’s hand, lifting it to his mouth, whispering, “Do they not say the hands of the King are the hands of a healer?” Aragorn smiled (1). This time it was soft and beautiful and warm and breezy. All those things that were also Aragorn, but had few moments to find expression. Gently, Legolas kissed Aragorn’s hand. Their eyes were locked on one another through the mirrored reflection. Aragorn sighed, his breath taking on the weight of voice, appreciative of the healing and love Legolas offered freely in that way that was uniquely wood elf. 

Aragorn murmured, “Are you enchanting me with your fey magic?” Legolas laughed, deciding to respond with more kisses. Aragorn’s smile grew bolder. “I was warned by my brothers you know,” Aragorn offered. 

At this Legolas paused. “Your brothers are intolerable prigs,” he replied. 

Aragorn snorted. “Only a wood elf could call the Noldor prigs who in men’s eyes appear just as wild and dangerous as their woodland kin.” 

“Only to ignorant men,” Legolas laughed, choosing to return his attention to the space behind Aragorn’s ears. Aragorn closed his eyes and shifted his weight, allowing himself to fall back more fully into Legolas sure embrace. “Men do say that to be bewitched by a wood elf results in the most scandalous behavior,” Legolas warned.

“And what is that,” Aragorn purred, knowing full well what sordid tales were told of his friend’s people.

“Oh I don’t know, something like this?” Legolas chuckled, pressing his erection into Aragorn’s back side eliciting a hiss from the man. Legolas caught Aragorn’s reflection in the mirror and was momentarily lost to the Sea. Alas! He would only have but a few moments with Aragorn in the known world and then they would be parted in a forever that seemed a different sort of darkness. The Sea surged within him, married to his lust, but Legolas was one of the Nine Walkers, had faced Darkness. This too he would meet head on and so Legolas took the Sea and allowed it to fill him. He took its colors born in the depths of the ocean and married it to the wood, to the green things, to his body, to his skin. The Sea relished within him, demanded movement, desiring to ride currents that snaked around the soul, to the bone, and find its way through the blood pumping in Legolas to release, and break upon shores of desire.

Aragorn’s eyes were open. He wanted to, needed to see Legolas’ raw desire, and he witnessed the Sea within Legolas and for the first time, though it made him sad, he did not fear it. “Lose yourself in me,” the King demanded, his hands hastily tearing away the clothes as best he could while Legolas stood behind him. 

Legolas whipped off his tunic and Aragorn followed suit. Soon they were resplendent, skin exposed in the most beautiful of tapestries of skin. Aragorn kept his eye on their reflection as did Legolas. Each wanting to watch as desire came over them and granted them escape into a different cosmos. Legolas readied Aragorn and though the man was impatient Legolas did not want to hurt his friend, but Aragorn would not wait.

“You have taken me out in the wilds with less attention. I do not need your care, what I need is for you to fuck me and remind me that in this moment we are victorious.”

“As you wish my lord,” Legolas hissed, allowing the Sea to surge and seek and find its way into the world, into Aragorn, his friend and lover. The Sea found a moment of magic, riding the currents of desire into body. The Sea stretched, felt, pounded, and suffered the limits of skin. It lavished in the warmth that was Aragorn. The Sea cried out, wanting more, more, seeking, climbing achieving sight and then seeing bright light beyond. The Sea through Legolas crashed onto the shores of Aragorn’s body, filled the contours of his being from the inside out, found its release as Legolas cried out in unison with his lover, joined in ecstasy. 

A warmth unlike any other filled Aragorn, causing his body to shudder as pleasure rolled over and through him, like the tides of the ocean. Legolas held onto him. They clung onto one another, their bodies swaying, slowing as time came back into its regularity and their breathing once more anchoring them to their bodies. Legolas enveloped Aragorn and Aragorn allowed himself to be cared for, to be nurtured, to feel small in the strong arms of the archer who would be by his side until they were parted. Lovingly, Legolas kissed Aragorn’s temple, knowing he could offer these small gifts of passion and compassion to a man that would soon live his life as a representative of men.

Aragorn spoke once more. “Vow to me you will make me steal away moments like these.” 

“I swear it,” Legolas whispered, a smile ghosting his lips as he pressed them into Aragorn and inhaled.

“Swear to me that you will not allow the prejudice of men keep me, keep Arwen from the joys of our bodies. That you will, from time to time, share our bed as we have before, as the Elves have done since you all awoke on this middle earth.”

Legolas breathed out, whispering, “I can only hope I am still welcome in what will now be the King’s bed.”

Aragorn laughed, standing up straight. He could hear the guards posted outside the tent shuffling their feet ever so slightly. Legolas cocked his head to one side, his eyes wide. “Oh dear,” the elf laughed, “your men will certainly gossip tonight.” 

“I am sure of it,” Aragorn replied, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Do help me choose a more comfortable tunic my friend,” Aragorn offered, his eyes taking in the row of clothes that hung waiting for his inspection. 

Legolas’ bare feet made not a sound on the rich tapestries as he walked over to inspect the racks of clothes. Settling himself in front of a particular set of clothes, Legolas chose an ivory tunic spun of silk that had green and gold leaves embroidered on the hem. He tossed it to Aragorn who replied, “Of course.” Legolas then tossed Aragorn dark brown riding breaches. Making his way to the shoes, he settled on a fine pair of grey leather boots. He carried those to Aragorn and helped his friend ready. Satisfied that Aragorn’s hair was as it should be, Legolas stood back to appraise his handiwork. “Handsome and Kingly!” Legolas declared.

“And what of you?” Aragorn countered taking in Legolas’ nakedness.

“What of it?” Legolas declared flipping his long hair over his shoulder.

Aragorn let out a laugh. “Debauched and Bewitching!”

“I would have it no other way,” Legolas declared, curtsying before Aragorn.

Keeping a straight face, Aragorn inquired, more amused than anything, “Will you accompany me to dinner or will you stay?”

“Dinner of course,” Legolas replied.  “Fucking you makes me ever so hungry.”

Aragorn rolled his eyes. “Well then,” he offered, turning towards the only entry and exit to his tent. 

Legolas sauntered over to his leggings, elegantly pulling them over his long, well-muscled legs. He pulled out a light open tunic from his bag and threw it on. Aragorn raised an eyebrow. Legolas would certainly have tongues wagging and more, going out bare chested into the world of men, but he knew better than to tell the wood elf otherwise. Legolas looked resplendent and fey. His long hair unbound, but before they exited the tent to dinner Aragorn plucked a flower out of one of the many vases that decorated the tent. “Mallos,” Aragorn murmured as he tucked the once more resplendent flower behind Legolas’ ear his eyes betraying the knowledge of what the journey had cost Legolas.

Legolas’ heart caught in his throat at Aragorn’s uncharacteristic show of whimsy that was verging on melancholy. Legolas recalled the gulls crying out over the river Anduin and how the calling of the Sea claimed his heart, but he also remembered his words to Gimli in his reticence to speak of the Paths of the Dead to Merry and Pippen upon being reunited with them: “ _And by the love of him also,”_ Legolas had told Gimli who had revealed that but for Aragorn Gimli had braved those Paths. “ _For all those that come to know him love him come to love him after his own fashion…”_ Legolas had spoken then (2).

Not willing to give into the Sea, Legolas reclaimed the Mallos, singing a Song he had sung before, but this time his voice was bright and his steps were light. Legolas allowed his body to sway in dance as he took Aragorn by the hand to lead him out into the night and amongst his men:

 

“ _Silver flow the streams from Celos to Erui_  
In the green fields of Lebennin!  
Tall grows the grass there. In the wind from the Sea  
The white lilies sway,  
And the golden bells are shaken of mallos and alfirin  
In the green fields of Lebennin,  
In the wind from the Sea!” (3)

 

And the fields of Lebennin would be green once more, the flowers again resplendent, for Legolas would tend to these things, for Aragorn, a man the elf had come to love after his own fashion, even if only for a moment.

 

 

The End

 

**Author's Note:**

> (1) From The Return of the King, The Houses of Healing  
> (2) From The Return of the King, The last Debate, where Gimli and Legolas tell Merry and Pippen of their journeys, particularly the Paths of the Dead, though Gimli is reluctant to revisit that story.  
> (3) Song Legolas sings in The Return of the King, The last Debate, as he tells Merry and Pippen of their journey through the Paths of the Dead and the ships they boarded and the blackened fields of Lebennin they encountered.


End file.
